


Faintest of Spark

by SouthernBird



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alia Tops, Alia thinks a lot, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Identity Issues, Intersex? Robots?, Light BDSM, Mentions of Zero and Signas, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Really Possessive Alia, Romance, no editing because we die like men, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23369458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernBird/pseuds/SouthernBird
Summary: Then, his idling brain picks up and X smiles so sleepy and so saccharine that Alia feels her core hitch a pulse, “you changed your build.”
Relationships: Alia/X (Rockman)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Faintest of Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sueanoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sueanoi/gifts).



> This is the probably the second most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. I am gifting it to my friend Sue because, well, she gets me. Thank you Rockman X DiVE for giving me a really pretty Alia to work with. She tops tho.
> 
> Oh, and this is a bit of a roller coaster. I am a writer that writes with music and I had to work with a pretty depressing soundtrack to get my brain to focus. Whoops.

It is suffice to say that routine alone would lead Alia there to the low-lit laboratories of headquarters, feeling ever in a familiar place as she steps into the observatory to be bathed in thrumming glows of cyan. As the door slides shut behind her with a muted hiss of hydraulics, Alia’s optics adjust brilliantly to accommodate all while a feeling of home settles over her. She can hear in the farther depths of the labs a tap, tap, tapping away of a lone attendant and it guides her down an aisle in search.

It would also be suffice to say that were she not so tickled to maybe impress a certain someone who _should_ be in his recharge bay right then, she might would drag him there herself.

Alia, though, knows better, and has tried and tried to talk and to yell and to perform any verbal form of argument to the proverbial blue brick wall that is her lover. Years have passed since that day she finally swept away the spaces between them to learn him so that she might come to understand what _goes on in that head of his,_ and honestly? All of her assessments have never derived a singular conclusion. Still, she has made some headway, and truthfully, she can find some ounce of pride in that.

From her observations, X is far too true, too tied up in his dreams of grandeur for all beings as though there are some fantastical Elysian Fields for humans and reploids alike to someday tread. Furthermore, X is far too kind, too engrossed with the pains of self-affliction when all his worrying and working leads him nowhere. And, lastly, X is far too hard on himself, even now punishing his overtaxed systems because of a thought he had one night when he should have just let his lower systems pulse to forget the grueling routines of being a Hunter.

Were she not far more interested in observing him after her upgrades, Alia would have stomped her presence within his perimeters, jerking his entire body over her shoulder and trounce them right out of the labs for a decent recharge. Cruel, but perhaps not unusual to see on base, as it would be a simple tactic she had picked up from Zero himself after X fell over after running training simulations at a measly five-percent.

In all her years of activation, Alia ponders nearly every millisecond of the working day how she could have wound up so fortunately in love with someone that cares so deeply about so much as X does… and in hindsight, she wonders why fate has burdened her with intertwining their paths so they could meet at the crossroads.

It will at least be an interesting story for the girls, maybe, if this goes as well as she hopes, but at least he is not a man of sporadic interests. Just one that cannot take his mind off of one thing to see the world rolling about in vivacious color around him.

And speak of the devil, there he is, tapping away at a monitor while the gears and combustion formulas churn and calculate along multitudes of numbers that derive in error after error despite his work and his calibrations. Even from where she stands, the Navigator can see his eyes shift with the slightest of static along those lovely green edges. He is low on charge because _of course_ he is, but he is so engrossed with his project on achieving stable, infinite sourced energy.

There is a sliver of irony there, Alia presumes, but would instead apt to forego her own scientific motions to slip up behind her distracted partner to wrap around him after he has received another error code for all his trouble.

The split moment when he tenses is damn divine, a hitch of his breath sending heat down Alia’s spine while she takes her time to nuzzle at his jaw. She knows that sound well and true, having caught it time and time again whenever she divulged in his, ah… more intimate weaknesses. It calls to her a need that makes her warmer by the moment while she kisses right at the side of that iconic blue helmet.

“Shouldn’t someone be asleep right about now?” Alia coos along his aural cone before her lips barely brush along his cheek as her hands find the curve of his hips. His reaction is an assured tense of his shoulders, a rigid line where she presses her now soft breasts to which causes his fingers to stop their incessant tapping away on the monitor. “Signas already wrote you up last week for this, X.”

The only sound she hears in reply is the gentle whirring of his servos and the muted beep of the machine awaiting their next equations for decisive testing and Alia nearly giggles because she knows he is absolutely engrossed with determining what is so different, processing probable materials and upgrades that would have her body not be the same as he felt just a night or so prior.

Really, fate is such a funny thing, that this poor man lets her touch down his thighs while he nearly overheats with exhaustion is a wonder.

“… Alia,” X starts gently, brows creased as he slowly turns his head to gaze up at her, “what…?”

She watches his eyes trail right to her chest and his lips quirk as if they are seeing something dubious in his data rather than his lover’s upgraded accessories, a look she knows he would tease her for should the tables ever be readily turned. Yet, X is far more content with staying in the shell that he knows, and hell, the Navigator is far, far more excited about that than he will ever know.

“Yes?” Alia purrs, her fingers drawing up to his chin to tilt his head back just so their eyes can meet. Poor thing is so tired, slowly blinking up at her as he gauges what on earth has happened while he has been twiddling away with the nuances of scheduled routines and night research he conducts after curfew. While he had been shuffling tablets with reports and training rookies before sauntering off into the recesses of the labs to crunch numbers, she had been busy herself and he needed the long pause to accept a new variable.

Then, his idling brain picks up and X smiles so sleepy and so saccharine that Alia feels her core hitch a pulse, “you changed your build.”

“Just a bit,” and Alia cannot help herself to press her lips to his cheek, wondering how a machine as old as X is could just be so damn, well, _adorable_. Somehow, he does it, whether it be with the revelation that has just passed or whether he is outlying his latest and greatest of theories to her during break at the canteen.

Despite the wars, despite the scars that etch epitaphs of fallen comrades into his soul, Alia wants nothing more than to hope and to pray that X keeps that blooming light that draws her in like a moth to flame. Even the soft sigh he emits at her kiss steels her resolve, something dark burning in her throat that makes her want to hide him away from every ill that would ever have cause to do him harm.

Alia, without a doubt in her mind, comprehends that what she feels is a need to possess him.

X slips her back to him with a hum even as she leans away, and he nearly follows her. She nearly returns to indulge in another kiss, this one far less chaste, but then stops as his grin slips wider along his mouth while he takes more of her new visage in. He turns fully on his heel, hardly caring as her hands press him closer by the hips while his own reach up to twine his fingers into her blonde locks, “you even have let your hair down?”

“I think that your reaction is proof enough that it was a wise decision to request an upgrade that conveyed more… casual professionalism,” Alia remarks with a tilt of her hand so she can kiss along his palms. The Hunter is so damn tired that he just laughs quietly, shaking his head all the while she presses a hand to her lips before kissing down his wrist.

X chuffs, eyes closing before he opens them up, brilliant verdant swirling with all the reasons she loves him so dearly, “well, I do like it… though I have to wonder why a more malleable structure?”

The opening she was waiting for has been unfolded towards her, and Alia takes it, more or less, leading X’s head to lay upon her chest so that he could get her reasoning a bit faster than words would ever allow. The data pads beep in their singular tone as she waits, the machine calculating all of X’s numbers and theories falling into a thrumming pause. Then, he perks and perhaps snuggles closer against her.

“ _Ohh_.”

“After our time together, I have determined that you like to cuddle, dear.”

“These are so soft…” X tiredly sighs, cheek pressed fully against the swell of a breast as he basks in the tender moment like he is basking in glorious afternoon sunlight, “far better for cuddling, I agree.”

Alia melts, absolutely feeling her knees turn into liquid at how content he is to be right there. She feels so selfish, ever so reminding herself that she did this for him, noted how when she would let him come down from their highs to relish in the afterglow, X would outright pout as he would try to find a comfortable place along her harder build. Yet, she is, knowing that this appeases him more than it does herself— after all, if not for her, poor thing would be just the sweet-hearted romantic that holds doors and kisses her cheek.

She hungers for him, and would she be so shocked to come to terms that he is a willing prey, eager to be a consenting victim to her lustrous wiles.

Alia goes for X’s helmet, deft fingers unhitching it easily to ease it from his head before she just lets it drop, letting it scatter to wherever it feels right to fall. There, all his brunette curls for her to pet and play with, giggling as he murmurs something quiet and then downright purrs against her. Her lover is hardly a dull plaything, ever enticing her to find each way to satisfy his need for tender touch that sets him alight.

However, her own flame is kindled, burning low and needy in the depths of her body. Here is perfect and her supplies are already hidden in the little nooks and crannies that she knows like the back of her hand. Her preparedness comes with her knowledge of how predictable X can be along with her time in her previous career.

There is a flash of blue and lavender, something strikingly painful and heartbreaking all at once, but X shifts to gaze up at her and all Alia wants is to drown in him.

Her fingers then tighten just so in his hair, pulling his head back to bare his neck to her. X gasps, eyes widening at the change of demeanor, but never once stiffens to a combative stance or attempts to ward her off. His eyes tell her all; they tell her he has enough energy for this— but they also tell her he may just yearn for heated friction as she does.

“You should have been asleep, sweetie,” the Navigator croons, inching in to kiss him deceptively sweet as his demeanor turns positively seraphic, green eyes posturing her innocently. Alia nearly growls under her breath at how coy X can be when she wants to give in to carnal lusts that somehow their species inherited from their human gods, insidious traits that reploids should have banished from their databases forever ago in kind.

Yet, man wanted dolls to fuck and to work as they please, all built in the images of man’s lust and need. Then, man wanted their subjects to know of it themselves, to know of thirst so deeply debilitating they could not fight the siren’s call. Thus, Alia cannot help this and dares not fight against the swirls of hungering lust that purveys her every sync when she submits to it.

X is a pretty thing that lets her have her whims, and she is cruel to want it so, but he gives her a tiny lopsided grin and her heart races with all the fiery pulsations to take.

“I should have been…” but he licks his bottom lip before biting it, and Alia could howl from just how damn demure that is, “but I was getting to a breaking point, I think…”

“Maybe you just need wearing out,” is a threat she whispers against his neck then, laving her tongue along the cords of his throat, “or maybe you need to be reminded of how to be _good_.”

The whimper that comes from that mouth nearly sends Alia into a tailspin of molten desire and it is all she can do not to tear him apart and fulfill herself then— but she can be patient and unyielding and needs to be, especially when her lover is already so low on fuel.

“And what is your status?” Alia kisses up to his ear, nipping right under the aural cone before trying to mark up his jaw with her teeth, “tell me, sweetie.”

“All green…” X relents, leaning his head to find some sort of purchase against her beginning onslaught, “um…”

“X?”

“… I don’t want to be able to use my hands.’’

And that’s how she gleefully found herself pressing X’s front over a flat terminal, locking his wrists around the spire that filtered through the holograms depicting his test results. She tugs at the bindings, makeshift cuffs with whatever she could find loose at the time, to ensure that they were grounding and tight before her hands slip down over his exposed back.

Pauldrons, gaunlets, and chest armor alike are all fallen to the floor by then, a haphazard mess that transpired from a deliciously desperate make out session and she cannot help herself but to touch. Alia finds herself lost in how he reacts to every caress, how X slowly starts to writhe while her fingertips dip along each nob of his spine.

He grunts soft and warm, and the way the Hunter cants his hips back against hers is nothing short of circuit frying.

“Good boy,” she praises, leaning to nip at the nape of his neck just nestled beneath his curls to elicit even more of his gorgeous, breathy sounds, “letting me have you like this.”

There is no verbal reply, just an arch of his back as her fingers slip over the curves of his hips to fondle at the hitches of his lower armor. X pauses with a tense, and Alia hesitates for a moment in the case that he deems this too far too soon. Regardless of how many times she has done this, how many times she has wrapped him into her gossamer web to wickedly break him apart before putting him back together, she listens to him endlessly. Yes, always listening, as endlessly teetering on the edge there is his trust, and to break it would be the same as taking a jackhammer to her own heart and crushing it in pounding waves.

Alia presses a kiss down his spine as she undoes the hitches, hearing the pelvic armor clatter to the floor with some impression of delight. That spine might stiffen once more, but she kisses and whispers sweet nothings along his back while his fingers spread and play between his thighs. Her entire existence seems singular then, totally enchanted with the quest of trial and error to see what makes him keen the most for her this time. She is ever so gentle, ever so thoughtful as she slides up the seam that hides between his legs to feel wet heat dripping for her.

Her reward is a ceaseless mantra of sweet, airy moans while his hips rock along her searching hands, a few little cries intermingling with the beeps of the machines that otherwise silently watch their debauchery. Every bit of his voice is mellifluous, honeyed calls in her aural sensors that feed into a insatiable void that wants to take and take until there is not more.

“Interesting that you stayed like this since last time,” Alia comments idly before sinking her fingers into X’s heat, earning a tight gasp as he grips the spire to compose himself, “it’s almost as if you were hoping that I would show up?”

X inhales deep in some wayward attempt to cool his heating systems, joints jerking as though shocked by her accusation. His breath is for naught for she hardly lets him gather his thoughts, instead curling her fingers in deeper to earn a whine before he can proffer an answer. Even better, his thighs inch further apart as if to welcome more, and oh does she, spreading her other hand across the small of the Hunter’s back as he works himself closer to some precipice.

Curiouser and curiouser, she watches with an owlish gaze, allowing herself to be the scientist she is solely at heart for a time. Tilting her hips back just so to survey the results of her experiment, her teeth bite into the side of her mouth while she hears him sing bedroom hymns just for her— all of it just for her.

And, oh, this is just like being in the labs full time again, working her way through method after method to find what functions for the better while scrapping away failures that tower above her, quaking within her an endless void of hopelessness. However, instead of raking her nails through the decay of rusted corpses from all her past sins, she is there in their headquarters, partaking in the carnal sins their creators deemed them worthy to know.

After all, Alia is discovering how X blooms forth her titillating zeal to explore.

How can she deny the fact how fond she is to hear him huff indignant and impatient when her fingers cease their plundering? How can she deny the fact that she vibrates herself when she works into him in slow rhythm, delighting in his drunken moans that roll through his body? He is under her spell— _no_ , she is under his— his body and soul enticing her with his honeyed mewls while he luxuriates in her touch that guides him to the throes of nearing climax.

X is impeccably sublime, nothing short of dewy starlight that Alia can only dare dream of in theoretical syntax splayed right beneath this outer shell she can feel much to her heart’s desire.

“Alia,” the other pants out, shaking out a groan that frazzles at the ends, “Alia, please, _please._ ”

A suck of her teeth and Alia tilts her head, regarding him with a poison-candied lilt, “patience is a much better look on you.”

Much to her benefit, X laughs hot and ragged, fingers flexing around the terminal spire before bucking his hips back to abate the heat growing between his thighs, “too tired to be patient.”

“Really, X,” chastises the blonde, disappointment spindling cobweb lace on her every syllable, “Sometimes I think you do these things to be punished.”

“I think… I might be.”

Leaving him bereft of her fingers, she slithers over him, breasts to his back, hips upon his so that her lips can mouth pretty praises along the sharp edge of his jaw. “Tell me the truth,” she husks as she kisses a scorching trail down to claim his mouth, “how did you want this?”

“In…” X swallows, heat-dazed for a second before he swallows, searching forward for reprieve found on against her lips until her fists hooks into his hair to tug him back with the lightest of warnings, “it’s… in the lockers.”

His admission might absolve him of his nefarious tactics, but ultimately his tattle telling on himself is also a victory for him being two steps ahead of her antics, plain and simple. Alia is a bit beside herself, her web of sultry promises now ash gray from X’s own plots that have lead her down his trail of delectable crumbs to a cove of his wills.

She’s impressed.

Unfortunate that she will have to leave rewarding him during the aftercare though, but regardless, Alia hums under her breath to allow him this small win standing right up, leaving X’s back bare to the cold. Even without her body over his, the android pants over the loss of electric sensation, thighs quaking as though phantom thrums ache through his every nerve.

“You minx,” Alia sighs aloud as she stalks over to an innocent set of lockers on the far wall adjacent of their place in the labs and there is a sight of more of his crumb trail, one door just conspicuously ajar for her. Her mind races, but all of the possibilities race to culminate to one singular presumption as she goes right up to his makeshift treasure trove.

With a tug of the handle, azure eyes settle instantly upon what she recognizes instantly is their favorite implement during play, a strap on that she has more or less deemed to be his favorite. Alia swallows thick and heady, eyes shutting as thanks whatever digital deity for giving her the gift that was a whining mess back just paces from her. Hell, she is about to go to Signas right then with X in tow to pound her fists on his door so that he can rally the forces together to see what can be done on reploids marrying.

A fickle matter, but the Navigator finds herself complicit in agreeing marriage is the only likely outcome to all of this. Why, there could be a grand display of flowers and ribbon, all white and gold and—.

“ _Alia…”_

_Right._ The apple of her eye and bearer of her heart that she will have in holy matrimony against all odds has given her a ripe fruit to pick for the night. She really should not leave him waiting, and she hastily grabs the toy and harness before gathering her arduous composure.

“Just what am I going to do with you, X?” comes out slick as leather and sharp as ice, heels clicking to tell him of her approach. Feigning disappointment, Alia’s eyes roves and sates herself at how vulnerable he is to her until they settle on the curve of his ass. “Really?”

X grunts pitifully as his forehead drops against the terminal, joints shuddering as he whispers against the panels, “you could fuck me.”

A snap reaction, but he yelps so beautifully all the same when she smacks one of his cheeks at the offer. “Say that again?”

Teeth grit tight as he turns his head, his eyes so resplendently and vivaciously emerald that her core drops to the floor from how earth shattering erotic he looks tied up and haughty, “you. could. fuck. me.”

Her palm finds the meat of the other cheek, all shock absorption any way, but gods or god or whomever she has to thank, he is libidinous drug she will smoke in wispy inhales until she deactivates.

“It’s supposed to be a punishment,” Alia groans in defeat, but has already won as she leans over him the other to cradle his jaw and kiss him with all her urgency. The need to possess throbs within, ripping through as she breathes his name like it is some holy vow to be confessed to a stranger in a parlor over bourbon.

A glitch of a moan, and her mind leaves her. How could the faintest of sparks lead her here, this friction built between two hearts that would lead them down this rosy rabbit hole? How did all her heartaches and his war-bruised soul brush together to ignite the flames that would threaten to engulf them if they were not careful?

Lost; Alia wants to be lost, forgotten in the midst of blues that would hold her. She wants to drown in the kindness that glows cyan and turquoise behind her eyes, wants to know what it means to be weightless in the depths of X’s endless, limitless compassion. There is something found in the way their lips touch as they seek each other and all the while, Alia all knows is how it feels to drift as water fills her lungs and storms brew calamitous and humid in her chest.

X gasps at a bite on his bottom lip while his grip nearly dents into the metal of the spire helping to hold him bound. He seems just as fervent as she is, panting short and fleeting to cool his capacitors. “Rust me, Alia, if you don’t _fuck me—!_ ”

She laughs free and light as his insistence, kissing him deep and quick one last time before she reaches down to rip at her body suit where her own swollen heat is.

“W… Wait, ‘Lia,” sputters out the Hunter as he flails to make sure what on earth she is doing, eyes worriedly veil that his lover is committing an act that will not only be horribly risqué (and hot as hell) but will have consequences to be dealt with later, “what the hell?”

“Too impatient for you,” and with one less obstacle standing before her and bliss, Alia takes up the harness of the strap on chosen by hers truly to assess which one it exactly is. “The double ended one, baby?”

With a chuckle that is as warm as vernal gold spilling through the foliage to kiss along the soil, X turns back to her give her a cheeky grin, “it isn’t really fair if I just get it all, huh?”

“You thought too well ahead,” but that’s all that needs to be said on that, her end of the toy sinking too smoothly between her folds. Were she to admit aloud her desires, she is certain that she would have to concede that she has been wet since she went looking for him.

No matter; all that trammels her cognitive notions are clicking the belts into place while fantasies allude to a euphony of sweet moans and loving adorations that will escalate into kindled zenith. All threats of a punishment fly from her cares as Alia positions herself, spreading X open to her famished gaze.

_Look at him_ , she mutters to herself, in euphoric awe that he is so damnably alluring in every single perfect way. His eyes, his mouth, his thighs— X is impeccably crafted sex on legs that could beguile any sentient existence, yet he chose her, all of her, and trusts her with the sanctity that is found in lovemaking.

Alia would a lucky star that would shine its luck upon her, but she has been too grateful for the unseen and the unknown for the gift that is X writhing beneath her, and she is a woman of science. She should perhaps act like it.

“Taking too long…” the blue bomber moans, pushing hips and thighs back in some lewd display of lust, “I’ll shut down at this rate.”

With a scoff from her throat, Alia’s palms cup those hips to hold him immobile, thumbs trailing celestial formations along his skin while that faint spark smokes in her core. The smoke is black, muddled tar that lurks and drags out the mischievous deeds she could commit right there and then. Firstly, she could stave him off, force him close to screaming peaks before tapering off to let him cool and suffer. Better yet, she could spread him wide, fuck him through and through until he can take no more, a gorgeously broken mess beneath the onslaught of her merciless pace.

But, no, nothing would ever amount to how perfect the sigh is that spills from his lips as she presses the tip in.

Were it some other moment, some other instance where the chains of her control would rattle and hold him to her ambitions, she knows he would allow it, but X’s eyes hold fathomless wonder in them as she slides deeper, deeper still until her hips roll against that soft curve of his backside. From there, she can see how he takes her girth, can see how he is nothing but a thing of splendor that roils in the ecstasy she has mercilessly given.

“Is that better?” Alia puffs out, her own end of the toy inching further into her own dripping core to give her just a bit of finite relief. She hopes he forgives her, strange as it may be, for the words are useless to give when their shared looks of arousal are more than suffice.

“You have no damn clue…” X grunts, teeth rolling over that poor abused lip before he seeks a tempo of his own making. It is only her by her kindness that she lets him move, hearing his muted gasps while he carefully grinds himself over the width of her nearly singing her nerves. She wants his ecstasy, wants to observe him infinitesimally with each twitch of his fingertips spire he is still bound to as he grasps for leverage. Nearly against her will, his movement soon fades into something more gratuitous, X taking control of his pleasure with hitched moans and whimpered mewls though he is essentially riding her cock.

Her hands catch him again, and to indulge herself, she makes sure she is only halfway inside.

“No, sir,” Alia chides with another light swat on his ass, “I don’t think I gave you permission to do whatever you want.”

With a defeated moan that trembles with his misery, the Hunter tumbles fully against the terminal. His chest heaves with a heavy agony as he manages to take back hold of his vocal box. “Am I being required to beg?”

Oh, would that not be empyreal, to be witness to every whimper and every plea that X could give, to hear him glorify the fake cock that holds fast inside of him. He would praise her, worship her diligence in pleasing him, revel in how her compassion to drive him wild will be his dire end because after all, are not orgasms tiny little deaths in a sea of sparks?

Not tonight, not when she can already tell he is near the edge, and her mercy is a sweeping wave across him as she presses fully to him, her breasts plush and full along his back while her hips buck deep into his need before shifting right back out to tease him for yet another moment more. Her breath is hot along his neck as she takes up kissing him over and over for he is holiness comprised in spectral color and her sinner heart needs all the salvation she can tear away.

No, he need not beg though his words are verses of scripture that she would reel over in the witching hours; X needs only to lay there as Alia holds the back of his knee as she spreads him apart further. Every intention of hers is wholly surmised to take him and to break him, to glue the shatters of his soul in the afterglow as she reaps what is somehow hers.

X’s cries, his sacred, pleasured wails that static when her cock drives too far in, are all hers to collect in the jars of her memory. X’s body, beatified by the fires of sex, is hers to bend and to fuck as she pleases, and oh, does she, does she not find it near damn essential to her existence to do so.

The throes come high, teeth clacking in kiss too hot and too desperate as both soon fall into a cadence that is theirs and theirs alone, ragged heatbeats of a pace that underlies their love and their hunger. Alia thrusts are answered by X’s pleading, and they rush together before tumbling right over that precipice together, flames fueling their motions of jerks and gropes.

Alia’s arms wrap around his lover, her sweetest thing, as she pets X through a near black out as he orgasms with her, mouth agape and so fucking pretty she might cry from how miraculous he is. 

And, then it is over, somehow too blessedly long and yet, somehow too awfully short, but damn it all, Alia is breathless and her defrag is frantic as she feels a few programs reboot. Her eyes are barely fluttering open before she is raking her smelted azure gaze over her lover’s body, awestruck as her core feels tight at how much love she has for this man.

X is barely running, idling so near a hard shut down as it seems he has been spent of the last of his already dwindling energy. From where she lays, he is just splendid to take in, his chest rising and falling with each singed breath he takes, some possible means to perhaps keep his motherboard from combusting from the heat of their lovemaking. She can hardly pull her eyes away, just meticulously filing away the softness of his features, the dazed dark green of his irises, and how dangerous this is to fall for someone that she can only protect from a monitor and a headset.

He is hers— he is all hers, and she wants him to know this as she nips along his shoulder then back up to his lips, taking his chin so that the Hunter will only see her, only know her, and be willing to be caught so that he can never be free from her chains.

“I love you,” he whispers suddenly, the tone so hallow in his affections that Alia may as well shut down there with him so that she may never have to endure another word that would tear this feeling away from her, “I love you… I—.”

Then the whir of X’s vents go silent, those ceaselessly gorgeous verdant eyes falling closed before his head falls gently into the palm of her hand so Alia can set him fully down. At the sight of his face, Alia nearly droops against him in relief.

He is asleep, battery drained and thus unable to function any further.

The timing is too eerily convenient as her own operating system pings that she must recharge soon or else she will be in the same state as the other. It’s enough to get her into some respectable fair and to get them both into a recharge station, but…

She watches him instead, smile never fading from her face as her fingers twine with his curls to pet him as he sleeps. X will never reawaken without some charge, but would it not be sweet if he could wake to her touch, all doe-eyed and cotton warm to greet her? In the labyrinth of cold steel that is headquarters at times, his morning smile would be as golden as the sunrise over this city, greeting the people of this too frantic metropolis with a wondrous delight to start a day anew.

But that would not do, having to share a sight so tender with each person. That ink-black possession rears its ugly head, sneers aloud and is what keeps her locked around him for longer than she should dare. Alia may be born again as he knows her, sculpted into a stranger with heart that seems as clear and as dewy as spring’s first morn, and she _means_ to be. She knows though— knows deep, deep down that no matter how much good she floods into herself, it might never account for the atrocities that still stain her hands.

Yet, X lets her touch him. X lets her be. X takes her hand whenever he can to kiss her knuckles, the same as she does for him. She guides him throughout the paths his life wars upon him, and somehow he allows this. How terrific it is that this howling, possessive abomination that writhes beneath her skin is as loved by him as she herself is.

And the truest ivory pillar of it all is that X lets her _love_ him, lets her take and lets her know him through and though. The act, so selfless and so giving, is enough to abate the shadow that haunts her every second of every day, the same shadow she welcomes as her self as she ghosts one last kiss on his forehead. The android never stirs. She finds herself content of it all for if she is to be shadow that is dimmed by the faintest of spark, then let him be light; let him always be the light that her moth wings float to every single time.


End file.
